City Never Sleeps
by SevenOverThree
Summary: In which Hershel Layton gets amnesia, after getting in a car accident. Drabble.
1. City Never Sleeps

Disclaimer: Professor Layton is copyright Level5.

Authors notes: One of the stories I've posted onto my Tumblr. As such, the pacing might be a little awkward.

* * *

It had been caused, Luke recalled, by a combination of bad weather and slippery roads. At the time, the Professor had been coming home from a long day at Gressenheller - it had been dark out, too, adding to the already hazardous conditions. Luke had wanted his mentor to wait, to come home the next morning when it wouldn't be so bad out. But the man had insisted, and Luke couldn't keep arguing, lest he anger the older gentleman.

When the person that had arrived at the Layton Manor nearly two hours later had not been Professor Layton, but a man in a police uniform, Luke knew that something had happened. Something that Luke had feared would happen, which was why he'd pleaded with his mentor to stay at Gressenheller for the night.

Apparantly, the Professor had hydroplaned - skidded on a patch of water - and lost control of his car. He and another man had collided.

The other man had been well enough to stand, but according to the reports, Professor Layton had been unconscious. Unconscious, bleeding, and entirely unresponsive.

After several unsuccessful attempts to rouse the man, to get some form of proof that Layton could comprehend that he was being spoken to, the other man had called 911. Reported his crash, that the Professor had lost control, and that said man was bleeding, and very much unresponsive.

Luke didn't really remember much after that. He knew that he had become very upset, and he recalled Inspector Chelmey trying to comfort him. At some point, he assumed he'd worn himself out, because the next thing he remembered clearly was the hospital, standing beside Laytons bed in the hospital.

Machines and tubes and wires poked out from everywhere on Layton's person; monitoring his heart, feeding him nutrients. Keeping him alive.

Luke remembered taking solace in the fact Layton was breathing on his own. That was a good thing, right? When people that had been in accidents could breath without using a machine? It meant that they would be okay.

But for four days, he didn't wake. For four, agonising days, Hershel Layton stayed hidden in his own unconscious mind. Just like that time his mentor had spoken about; back when the Professor had been beaten so badly that he lay in a coma for a month.

And when he finally did wake up - he could not recall who Luke was. It nearly sent him into hysterics all over again.

Once Layton had been well enough, one of the doctors had examined him. Luke hadn't been there for that, but he remembered being told that Hershel Layton didn't remember ever being Hershel Layton. He didn't remember being an emminent archeologist, he didn't remember being a master puzzle-solver, he didn't remember taking Luke on as an apprentice, or adopting Flora Reinhold. Professor Layton couldn't remember Professor Layton.

For a while, Luke recalled, there had been arguements about whether or not Layton could still properly care for the two children that lived with him. With amnesia, they had said, Layton could not teach - he didn't remember anything about the subject he'd previously been so adept at. He had no job.

Dean Delmona and Shrader both had argued Layton's side, saying that just because he didn't remember his old self, didn't mean he was suddenly incompetent, and incapable of caring for children.

Luke recalled a part of the arguement; Dean Delmona had confidently said that he was entirely willing to continue paying Layton; putting him under 'sick leave', and eradicating the money problem - for at least the next six months.

Eventually, the arguements -for thats all they were, there were no custody battles, just fights about whether or not Layton was incompetent- faded, and life returned to about as normal as could be in a house where the caretaker knew absolutly nothing about his two charges.

Professor Layton, as it turned out, was not completely gone. Sure, he no longer knew anything about archeology, and his puzzling skills were about as good as the next mans now - but even without knowing who 'Hershel Layton' had been, he'd found it inherently difficult to part with his top-hat. And he still acted the perfect gentleman.

It had been a very pleasent surprise when the man had berated Luke on his manners, saying that he hadn't been acting very gentlemanly.

When three months passed, with little change to be had beyond Layton remembering being a gentleman, doctors began to suspect that, perhaps, Hershel Laytons amnesia might be a permanent affliction.

At that point, Luke and Flora both had begun compiling a list of places that their not-so-much-anymore Professor could apply to, if it came down to it.

The idea of Hershel Layton resigning from his position of archeology professor to work front end in a grocery store was hard to take, but with the man looking more and more as though his memories would not be recovered, they had to continue forward. A steady income had to be obtained.

Another month passed, and by now, the man that had once been an emminent archeologist now worked a plain, boring job in a local tea shop. Ironically enough, the man still loved tea.

0o0o0o0

It was about six o'clock that night, when Luke picked up a puzzle-cube his mentor had purchased. Luke couldn't recall where the man had been when it had been discovered and summarily purchased by the Professor -and since Layton had amnesia, it's origins would remain a puzzle in itself- but the man had said, some time before the accident, that he'd spent a good amount of time - hours, in fact, working on the thing.

It looked like a 3d jigsaw that had been put together wrong - pieces jutting out everywhere and making it look less like a cube and more like a jumble of geometric shapes all stuck together. The professor had once told him, all the peices could be pushed into the cube. Every piece's movement affected another piece, but when done correctly, the whole thing would lock together as a perfect cube.

For a moment, he sat on an armchair, just staring at it. Soaking in the memories of when Hershel Layton -still called 'professor' by quite a few people- was still an archeologist, and master puzzle-solver. As it was, Luke imagined that this cube that had once been so much fun to the professor would now just frustrate him.

He himself had never tried it, being too certain that since it had taken hours for his mentor to finish it, that it would've been nigh-on impossible for him. Right now though, he didn't care.

So he began pushing pieces.

An hour later, Luke had lost all patience with the thing. while yes, it was certainly a good time-passer, Luke couldn't see how the supposed 'cube' could fold into a perfect cube.

Just as he slammed the puzzle-cube onto the table before him, the Professor walked into the living-room. The man, dressed in his usual outfit -sans jacket- gave him an odd look.

"Luke, whatever is the matter?" Luke sighed in frustration.

"It's this puzzle. You bought it somewhere a long time ago, and I wanted to try and solve it but it's impossible!" His mentor smiled knowingly.

"Ah, I see." He then sat down, in a chair across from the boy, and in a movement that surprised Luke - picked the puzzle-cube up off the table.

For a few minutes, he just stared at the thing, and Luke imagined that he was trying to see if he could remember having bought it. He did that with a lot of his things.

"Now… Let's see…" Luke froze as the man began pushing pieces of the cube in, smiling sometimes when certain pieces slid out. The professor… was trying to solve it? But… why? Why, when he couldn't solve even the puzzles he found easy, anymore?

"Professor…" Luke said, sadly. "It won't work." His mentor had tried using puzzles to jog his memory before. It hadn't worked very well, and the man had only gotten himself frustrated when he couldn't solve the puzzles that he knew he had solved with ease only months earlier.

Hershel didn't reply.

For the next hour and a half, the man worked diligently on the cube, never stopping, or making any motion that said he was at all irritated or frustrated. Then, just as Luke was about to give up, and leave the man on his own to work the cube through - Hershel gently placed the cube -a smooth, perfect cube, and no longer a jumble of shapes- onto the table.

Without a word, Hershel stood, and began walking away from the now-speechless Luke. Just as he got to the stairwell, he paused, and spoke.

"Oh, one other thing, Luke." There was a smile in the mans voice "I happened to purchase it in a Curio Shop in central Europe."

"Wh… What?" Luke, finally finding his voice again, spoke. "You…" But then it was gone again. Hershel turned to the boy, a bright smile crossing his face.

"What say we give a call to Dean Delmona tomorrow morning?" He said, continuing to grin from ear to ear. "I think this vacation of mine has gone on for far too long."

"Y-you mean… you…" Hershel nodded, walking back over to the Luke.

"For the past three days now." A grin split Luke's face. "I think a certain university needs it's finest archeologist back. Don't you?" Luke dove at the man, so happy he was crying.

"I missed you Professor…!" Hershel returned the boys hug.

"I never left - I merely needed time… to solve a very difficult puzzle." He said. "A very difficult puzzle indeed."

"I can't wait to see how Flora reacts…" Luke said, in-between sobs. Hershel laughed. Neither could he.


	2. Puzzling Through

Disclaimer: Professor Layton is copyright Level5.

Authors notes: A follow up to City Never Sleeps. Layton's perspective on the whole thing

* * *

It had been about three and a half months since he'd been released from the hospital, reassuring himself that all the people claiming to know him -the girl, and the young boy in blue, as well- actually did. It simply didn't make any sense otherwise; all these people pretending to know him? No. That didn't make any sense. They definitely knew him.

The boy being his 'apprentice' felt… right. Apprentice to what, he didn't know, but that the boy -and the girl. He had a daughter? Adopted or not, that he couldn't remember her made him feel extremely guilty- lived with him felt natural. He couldn't remember anything, but it felt right to have two sets of young feet running through the house -'The Layton Manor' the two called it, despite it not being manor-sized- that was apparently his own.

He'd been told that he'd previously been an archeologist - one of the best, and working as a teacher of such at the local university. He'd felt very guilty when he'd resigned.

For about a week now, he'd been working at a tea shop just down the street a ways.

Among other things, his apprentice -Luke, the boy's name was- had told him that he'd been an avid drinker of tea, so the both of them had been rather pleased when it had been discovered his tea preferances had not been lost.

Sure, working at the shop didn't feel right, but he couldn't teach a subject he didn't remember.

0o0o0o0o0o0

There was a woman, in a photo he had in his study. She had light brown hair, and looked very happy. As expected, he couldn't remember who she was, but each and every time he looked at the photo - looked at her - his heart began to ache terribly. He had very quickly begun laying the photo face-down. He didn't need to know who the girl was to know that whatever she'd meant to him, something had seperated them. Something very tragic.

o0o

Puzzles stumped him. All the time. Thought he'd been told he'd been nearly unbeatable before his accident, although he still loved them, they stumped him.

They did little for his memory. A flash of housing here, a river there… nothing big. Nothing important. Nothing helpful.

He'd gotten his first memories back when he'd been re-introduced to his top-hat. Sitting in his study, he'd picked it up from off the desk and gotten an immediate flash of a name.

Claire. And then came an image of the brown-haired woman whose photo made his heart ache, and then… memories. So many memories. Meeting her for the first time at Gressenheller, so many countless dates, a final -why was it final?- date at a restaurant where he'd been about to say something important but lost his nerve and changed the subject.

A small box in his pocket, it's outside velvety to the touch and oh god he'd never had the chance to give it to her there was an explosion she hadn't lived she was dead!

Luke had found him on his knees, shaking and about to cry. According to the boy, it had taken a few minutes to snap him out of the agonising rush of memories. Still shaken, he'd decided not to tell the boy. He didn't know if Luke knew the details of what happened between himself and Claire, but if not, he wasn't going to burden him.

It had taken nearly an hour to convince Luke not to call the hospital, or a doctor.

After that day, he'd begun going about his house, picking up and examining anything that made him feel any kind of emotion. Happy, sad, angry -anything. His whole house was a set of hints; his own mind, the puzzle.

o0o

He'd found another photograph one day, one that looked as though it had been taken recently. There was himself, he recognised, and three other people. Two men; one in a fancy white tuxedo, and the other a blue-shaded suit, and a woman with blonde hair.

Randall. Randall, ruins, Henry covering for them, Randall falling down a deep hole there wasn't any noise of him hitting the floor and he was certain he was dead - Henry built a city. A city, Angela invited them, and Randall, Randall was there but only at the end. No, no, Randall wasn't dead.

Henry, Angela, Randall. And Alphonse. His friends. Stansbury, where he moved to as a teenager, with his parents. Where his friends grew up.

His parents. Randall's parents.

Moving to London after the accident.

He'd been accepted as a student at Gressenheller.

o0o

It hadn't taken long for him to finally remember his youth. Growing up, moving to Stansbury, meeting Randall. Randall introducing him to Angela and Henry.

About a week after he finally recalled Stansbury and Monte D'or -Luke, Emmy, stone statues, how was this being done, a man in a mask, Descole. Descole Descole Descole. Who was Descole? Why was he so interested in Layton?- that other memories began trickling back, slowly.

A girl, an opera singer. The Detragen. Ambrosia. A city, supposedly haunted, Emmy, a boy -Luke!- Misthallery. Clark. A town, robots everywhere, rescuing a girl. Adopting her. Flora!

A London in the future. No, not the future. Underground. Claire. Claire was there. Dimitri. Clive. A time-travel experiment gone wrong. Hawks fault. Claire returning to her present. Days of depression. She was dead again.

Over the weeks, his memory returned. But reluctantly, he told Luke nothing. Kept this puzzle secret.

o0o

He wasn't certain how he managed to keep his ever-returning memory secret from Luke and Flora. They were almost always with him, barring when they were at school and himself at his temporary job in the Tea Shop down the street. Perhaps they just weren't looking for it. The doctor had said, after all, that his amnesia had the possibility of being permanent.

Which brought him to another curious thought. That first break in his amnesia. Why had it taken so long?

It had been Claire, he recalled. That first memory had been of Claire. Before he'd noticed her photograph, he hadn't really looked at anything. He'd seen them, but never payed anything in his house much mind. He was there, they were there. He couldn't remember them - they hadn't felt important at that time.

Claire, it seemed, had been the final straw. His initial grief in losing her had put a crack in the dams in his mind.

Then his top-hat had loosed it even more - the memories his top-hat held could break free, because his mind wasn't as locked up as it had been previously.

o0o

It was late when he went to check on Luke. About six-thirty pm, if he was right. Luke was fiddling with the Cube, the one he'd bought somewhere in central Europe. A very amusing little thing, it had taken hours to beat, initially. Now he knew what pieces to push, it took him considerably less time, but it was still a lengthy puzzle.

The boy had been playhing with it for an hour, but evidently was losing patience with it - he'd slammed it onto the table, a little harder than Hershel would've liked.

It had been a month, he suddenly recalled. A month since his memories started returning. And three days since he'd recalled all of it. He let a grin slip onto his face, then hid it.

It was about time he told Luke that he'd remembered himself.


End file.
